


let me be the fool who will live and die for you

by EnRaa



Category: Transformers: War for Cybertron Trilogy (Cartoon)
Genre: Eventual Relationships, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Injury Recovery, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnRaa/pseuds/EnRaa
Summary: !!SIEGE SPOILERS!! Don't read if you're not done of the season.He can tell from the way Ratchet sneaks looks at him ever few kliks that he knows he got him thinking. Impactor frowns at him, just to let him know that he's onto him. Ratchet just smirks, very satisfied with himself no doubt, and finishes the last few touches on the weld.
Relationships: Ratchet/Impactor
Comments: 21
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This'll just be a little blurb because we missed such a great ship. Hope you enjoy! I'll do one or two more chapters as I get time for sure.
> 
> Title is from 'Belgrade' by The Battle Tapes. Good song, good band.

“I hope your pain tolerance is pretty high, because some of these repairs are going to be...rough without circuit dampeners.” Ratchet informs him as he prepares his frame welder for the next set of repairs. “Supplies are a little low these days, as I'm sure you're aware, so we have to make-do without a lot of the comforts of a modern RepairBay.” The medic explains with a frown that tells Impactor all he needs to know about how frustrating that must be.

With the last adjustment made, Ratchet hums and switches the welder on, and Impactor grimaces as the tool touches down to his plating and begins its slow and painful decent over the patch Ratchet had rigged up. He decides quickly that the grating sound of the plates being bound together is way worse than the actual burn as the the metals fuse, but he still finds that he misses those aforementioned comforts.

“It's...not too bad.” Impactor grits out between clenched dentae, and Ratchet flicks his optics up to Impactor's, gauging his discomfort, no doubt. “I'll live.” Impactor says cheekily, and the medic rolls his optics in exasperation.

“Yes, well, that's the idea. Now tell me if you need to stop and take a break. The repair will take a bit longer, but-”

With a mirthless chuckle, Impactor shakes his helm. “I'm a warrior, Doc. A little weld isn't that difficult.” He informs the medic matter-of-factly, but Ratchet only glowers at him.

“Listen Impactor, I have other patients that need my care. I don't need your systems going into a forced stasis over some ridiculous warrior bravado and making this any harder than it needs to be. If you need to stop, you tell me.” Ratchet growls, and the ferocity in his tone and the frustration in his optics has Impactor back-peddling a bit.

“Alright, alright,” He concedes with a shaky ex-vent. He lets his helm fall back so he can stare up at the ceiling, trying to drown out the sharp grating of the welder against his plating. “I just need a distraction, that's all.” He mutters, and Ratchet just scoffs at him.

“What, are you big warrior types above basic conversation?” He asks dryly, and Impactor huffs a laugh as he ducks his helm to look at the progress of his repair and finds himself watching the weld with a strange mix of interest and disgust at seeing his own internals. He hates it.

“Nah, I uh, I just thought you might need some peace and quiet to concentrate, or something...” He quickly decides that the weld is a bad place to focus if he wants to keep his rations down and instead turns his gaze to the medic, watching as he expertly seals the patch over the impalement wound.

“Peace and quiet,” Ratchet chuckles, soft and tired. “That's a riot. Haven't had that in, hm, a few centuries?” He says with a smile that Impactor decides looks very beautiful on the medic. And without really knowing much about the medic, he can guess that those smiles are rare.

“Heh, tell me about it...” Impactor agrees with a grunt as he shifts his weight in the slab, and as he settles back, his optics fall on the faded insignia on the medic's chest. “You know, Doc, I do have a question for you.” Ratchet seems to take his inquiry as a good chance to give him a break from the insistent welding, and Impactor lets out a heavy ex-vent that he wasn't aware he was even holding.

“What's that, now?” The medic asks as he shoots Impactor a frown that he decided was definitely a warning for not getting him to stop earlier. He politely ignores the glare.

“You're an Autobot, but you repair 'Cons,” He shifts around uncomfortably, making an honest effort not to jar the new repair as he tries to find a way to lean back that doesn't hurt. “Why?”

Ratchet makes some more adjustments to the welder and gives a half-sparked shrug of his shoulders in response. “I help anyone who needs it; Autobots, Decepticons, unaligned...” He says matter-of-factly. “No need of mechs dying in the street when I am able to help them.”

“Alright, but what do you get out of it?” Impactor presses him as he fidgets, and finally, _finally_ he settles into a position that'ss moderately comfortable and still allows Ratchet access to his wounds. “Got some big slagger that comes for the payment later? Or do you harvest extra parts while they're out and unaware?” Ratchet levels him with an amused, but tired smirk, but Impactor is undeterred. “Look, we all know spare parts are a hot commodity for both sides of the war, and you seem to know your way around a bot.”

“While you've got some pretty wild theories, all I ask of my patients is that when they are able, they help while they're here recovering. More servos makes everything go a hell of a lot smoother.” Ratchet explains simply enough, and Impactor rolls his optics. He'd never known a mech to not want something in return.

”You really expect me to believe that?” He asks dryly. “It makes no sense: Why would you do something so... _good_ for no gain?” Ratchet gives him another one of those sympathetic frowns, and Impactor finds he really doesn't care for those. He makes a mental note to try for more smiles.

“When this all started, like you, I helped my faction, and in doing so I helped wipe out _so many_ mechs and femmes who were just striving for peace.” Ratchet murmurs, and Impactor can tell from the way the medic messes with the welder that he's still uncomfortable with his role in their planet's history.

“I don't want to be the reason any more Cybertronians go offline. If I'm going to be a part of this war, I'm damn well not going to be the reason we all of our people. Everyone deserves life,” Ratchet flicks his optics up to meet Impactor's own, and he can see how there's a spark of determination there. “Even big bad 'Cons, like you.”

Impactor is speechless for a moment, but he shakes his helm and a rueful smile tugs at his lip plates. “And what happens when someone doesn't want to play nice with their enemy? You scrap them?”

“No, I tell them to leave. I only use force if my patients are in danger.” Ratchet bring the welder back down to finish the patch. “But,” He say softly, optics still on Impactor in a way that makes him feel like he's being chastised. “I would hope that they'd be willing to see past their badge and could see that all these people want is a place to _peacefully_ receive treatment. Primus knows they won't get it out there.”

“Yeah...” He agrees in a very half-sparked way, more just to confirm that he was actually listening than to give the medic a real answer. He can tell from the way Ratchet sneaks looks at him ever few kliks that he _knows_ he got him thinking. Impactor frowns at him just to let him know that he's onto him. Ratchet just smirks, very satisfied with himself, no doubt, and finishes the last few touches on the weld.

Impactor relaxes back with an audible groan from his plating as the repair is finally finished.

“Now that weld needs to set, so do me a favor and get some rest so you don't stress the patch.” Ratchet says as he tidies up around the recharge slab. “Yell if you need anything, alright?”

“Yes, carrier.” Impactor teases with a smirk, and Ratchet shoots him a warning look.

“Start trouble with any of the other patients and you'll be calling me your doctor of doom.” He says pointedly, and Impactor shakes his head and huffs a small chuckle.

“M'too tired to fight, maybe later.” He mutters, and Ratchet rolls his optics as he dims the light over Impactor's recharge slab. Just before he offlines his optics, Impactor manages to catch a smile tugging at the medic's lip plates as he walks back towards the other patients.

He really likes that smile.

“And just what are you doing up and about!? You should be resting!”

Impactor winces as he turns to face the medic. “I just needed to stretch my struts a bit, Doc. Not used to actually resting with injuries.” The medic frowns, but there's a sympathetic edge to it.

“Fine, but don't stress yourself too much.” Ratchet warns, and Impactor nods as he turns and heads towards the main part of the RepairBay. “And don't pick any fights! And if someone picks a fight with you, don't engage!”

“I know, I know.” He assures the medic, as he makes his way into the Bay.

He doesn't like what he finds in there. The mechs and femmes are patched up, but he knows from how rough of shape they're in that there's still a long recovery for many of them. Some of the injuries are outrageous; Acid damage, cosmic rust hot spots, torture scars. Impactor doesn't have to look at the patients' insignias to know that those wounds were born of Decepticon weapons...

A weight settles in his chest as he surveys the other patients, most of whom barely have enough energy to even regard him, and he sighs as he walks over to one of the nearest slabs.

“Hey, buddy, you holding up okay?” He asks gently, and watches with an apprehension he didn't expect to feel as the mech weakly looks at his insignia, then back to his face, before slowly nodding.

“Y-yeah, I'm...I'm okay.” The mech murmurs weakly, and Impactor nods.

“Alright, do you need me to get Ratchet for anything?”

From across the RepairBay, Impactor catches Ratchet watching him intently, and there's a surge of something warm in his spark when the medic smiles at him approvingly.

“I'm glad you're settling in well,” Ratchet says as he helps Impactor steady himself as he gets back onto his recharge slab. The rounds through the Bay helped to exhaust him, and he felt good about at least letting the other patients know he wasn't a threat. “Thank you for checking on them all, earlier.”

Impactor turns to face Ratchet, and that damn smile flattens him. “Uh... Just doing my part...” He stammers, and Ratchet chuckles at him.

“Well, it means a lot. I usually have to try a lot harder to get bots to help their enemies.” He says with a little sigh, and Impactor frowns as he thinks of all the other patients. Ratchet gets him settled into his slab and as he turns to adjust the light, Impactor decides to run something by him that's bugging him.

“Ratchet,” He says softly, and the medic turns and regards him fully. “I...thought I was fighting for the right thing...” He murmurs, and he looks up in time to catch the way Ratchet purses his lip plates in thought.

“We all did,” Ratchet admits simply. “But now you can make a decision to fight for what _you_ think is right.” He adds thoughtfully, and Impactor frowns at the idea that he needs to sort out his war ideals all over again.

And Ratchet smirks at him, no doubt knowing he got Impactor thinking again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impactor and Ratchet discuss the war, and Impactor's place in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS ARE SO NICE. Seriously, I love all the comments <3 I really wasn't expecting such a warm reception to this fic, so thank you everyone whose enjoying it and thank you to everyone who commented! I really appreciate the feedback.

“Who would have thought that a big, bad warrior would turn out to be such a competent nurse?”

Impactor shakes his helm with a chuckle as Ratchet scans his vitals. “I'm no nurse, Doc. I'm just an extra set of servos.” He pauses as son as it's out of his vocalizer, and he can tell from the hitch in Ratchet's vents and the way his shoulder plating tightens that the medic definitely caught his slip up. “Well... I'm a single extra servo.” He says with a grin, and Ratchet laughs softly.

“Well, with your _single servo_ helping me get these other bots in working order, we're seeing the largest improvement in their conditions I've had in a long, long time.” Ratchet says as he sets his scanner down on the table that's in front of the slab they're perched on. “And speaking of repairs, yours are coming along great!” The medic informs him happily, something Impactor is enjoying seeing more of lately, and he returns the medic's smile as he leans back and allows Ratchet to look over the worst of his damage.

Ratchet gives a pleased hum as he inspects his work. “You know, the most astounding part of your recovery is that you're behaving yourself. I figured you'd have found a way to tear that weld open by now.” The medic says pointedly, pinning him with an amused smirk, and Impactor chuffs a laugh.

“Well, you do a good job of keeping me out of trouble, Doc.” Impactor reminds him, and with a little flick of his optics out towards the Bay, Ratchet follows his gaze to rest on the patients. They watch them all help each other to get back on their feet, exercising their newly repaired appendages and passing around their rations to one another, even helping the bedridden consume theirs.

The room made Impactor startlingly aware that under no stress from their respective military, these mechs and femmes had no qualms helping one another. Without someone telling them from a daily rally to hate one another, these bots didn't care what insignia they did or didn't wear; They were happy just to have shoulders to lean on.

“You know, you do good work here, Impactor.” Ratchet assures him, and Impactor isn't sure when the medic had turned to face him, but his optics are soft as they watch him. Impactor likes these moments, likes when Ratchet looks at him with such warmth and trust. “They see how readily you help them, and it helps them feel safe enough to extend that same courtesy to others they might've once left for dead.”

Impactor smiles ruefully. “They all deserve a future where they don't have to fear being tortured for aiding the enemy.” He murmurs, and Ratchet sighs.

“Well, all we can do is hope for, and fight for, an end to this war that won't destroy or damn any more of our people...” Ratchet says with a shrug, but his shoulders sag a moment later. “Although, truthfully, I don't think either side is advertising that ideal, anymore. Now it's achieve supremacy over the other or die trying.” The medic takes a file from the tray in front of them and begins working down some of the more angry, raised welds that litter Impactor's arm.

“Actually, I've been giving some thought to where I stand...with the war.” Impactor admits as he watches Ratchet work. He knows his vents are a little shaky, and he knows Ratchet can definitely hear it.

“And where do you think you stand, Impactor?” Ratchet asks softly, flicking his gaze up from the welds to meet Impactor's optics, and he can feel the rise of tension, of wariness in the medic's field. Impactor pulls his arm back from Ratchet's ministrations, leaving the medic frowning at him.

“I... I want to stick around, if that's okay with you, Doc.” Impactor says, far more confidently than he'd expected to sound, and certainly more confident than he feels. He takes one of Ratchet's servos in his own. “Since I've gotten here, you and everything you're doing...all the bots you're helping... I want to protect it.”

Ratchet looks down between them, at their joined servos, and he pulls his servo back just enough to interlace their digits. Impactor's vents hitch, and Ratchet cocks his helm at him. Impactor can feel the change in the medic's field, no longer wary but open, curious. “Protect it,” He says slowly, no doubt considering the words carefully, and Impactor nods, clears his vocalizer of the awkward bout of static Ratchet's forwardness had brought on.

“Look Ratchet, since I've come here you've shown me a side of Cybertronians I've never allowed myself to believe existed: For the first time, my caste doesn't matter.” Impactor explains, hoping he doesn't sound as weak as he feels, baring his spark as he was. “I've never seen mechs and femmes of _Iacon_ that didn't look down on _me_ , a mere miner of Kaon, until I arrived here. For the first time I was shown respect from these people and I didn't have to beat it out of them...”

Ratchet squeezes his servo as he listens, like a gentle reminder that he's paying attention, and Impactor smiles at him, squeezes back. He appreciates the way the medic's optics never leave his. ”All of this...is what I've always wanted. And I know you're aware that if the wrong bot finds this place, you won't be thrown in a brig if they catch you treating 'Bot and 'Cons, Doc... They won't be recruited... It'll be the end, and I don't want to see anything happen to this place when everyone is trying so hard to achieve what this war can't. So let me keep helping, and let me keep you all safe.”

“Well,” Ratchet says softly as he mulls over Impactor's words, letting his gaze drop to their servos once more. “I suppose it's about time that I enlisted some help from ' _some big slagger_ '. I hear it helps with payment, after all.” His optics flick up to Impactor's in time to see the victorious grin that he just can't contain, and Ratchet mirrors the smile with his own. “You were wasted on the Decepticons, Impactor... You have a good spark.”

“I promise you that I will live up to that,” Impactor lifts their joined servos, rotating them enough that he could press a kiss to the medic's knuckle joints.

Ratchet watches him with soft optics and an even softer smile and as Impactor begins to pull away, he untangles their servos so he can cup the edge of Impactor's helm and tug him forward, pressing their lip plates together in a kiss that had that ever-present warmth the medic brought out in his spark come bursting forth, blooming rapidly in his casing.

They part slowly, and Ratchet presses a smiling kiss to his cheek plating, whispering softly into his audial, “You already did...” Impactor turns so that their lip plates meet again, although it's cut short as Ratchet pulls back suddenly, optics apologetic as he activates his comm.

“What is it, Stormtracker? Ah, yes, I'll be right in.” Impactor chuckles softly at the medic's frown, and as he ends the comm he begins tidying the tray of tools. “Duty calls,” He murmurs, taking the scanner from the tray.

“I'll check on the Bay and meet you for a fuel break in a few cycles.” Impactor says with a grin he knows he can't shake, even if he could bring himself to try. Ratchet nods his agreement before ducking out to the Bay, and Impactor sighs contentedly.

He knows his future is a lot _more_ , now, with Ratchet in it and as interested in this thing between them as he is, and he makes a note to remind himself to double up his rehabilitation exercises.

He intends to prove to Ratchet again and again that he is worth the chance he was given...


End file.
